


fixation

by omello



Category: Electronic Dance Music RPF
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Shameless Smut, and thats about it lmao, nothing too bad anton's just drunk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-23
Updated: 2017-08-23
Packaged: 2018-12-18 22:02:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11883729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/omello/pseuds/omello
Summary: Anton has one goal in mind, and who is Wes to deny him a single thing?





	fixation

**Author's Note:**

> i know i've said this about like all things i've written but sorry to god and everyone else. this all stemmed from a joke and now here we are

“Christ.”

 

The word sounds broken, awed, when it comes out. Wes lifts his head from the chair he's sprawled out in, just in time to see Anton climb into his lap and straddle his hips, hands gripping his shoulders. 

 

The club around them is loud and pounding - Wes can feel the bass deep in his chest - but somehow the voice still reached his ears. Everyone around them is drunk and busy with something or other, so he doesn't mind the display. Wouldn't, anyways, but the minimal attraction is welcomed.

 

He’s confused, obviously. Anton appeared seemingly out of nowhere, having vanished previously almost hours ago, and the fact that he's  _ drunk _ doesn't really answer the sudden closeness. Neither of them have said a word since, and Wes realizes now that Anton’s eyes are trained on his chest.

 

“You've seen me shirtless before, you know,” he points out with a slow drawl, an eyebrow raising as he watches Anton’s face carefully. It's hard to read, eyes glassy and unfocused with intoxication, but there's  _ something _ there.

 

“Your boobs,” Anton slurs without hesitation, “They're  _ huge _ .”

 

Wes laughs then, his hands moving to rest on Anton’s hips. He rolls his eyes. “Don't— don't call them that, actually. Chest or  _ pecs _ is fine,” he snorts. “And again, you've seen them.”

 

Anton shakes his head, only vaguely aware of the other’s words as his hands slide from Wes’ shoulders to his chest, placing them firmly over the muscles.

 

“They fit so well in my hands…” Again, Anton’s voice is  _ awed _ , and Wes has to hold back another laugh. It was weird, being complemented in this way— almost made him feel a little uneasy.

 

Anton lifts his head now, looks Wes in the eyes the best that he can, and his expression is solid when he says, “I wanna come on them.”

 

Wes can't hold back his laugh this time, loud and barking, and it gathers the attention of a few people as he tries to control himself. Eventually he settles on a lazy grin, but his expression is utterly amused as Anton continues to give him the most serious face he's ever seen the man wear. 

 

“I mean it, Wes,” he says, thumbs brushing over his nipples. His eyes are hungry, Wes can see that even through a drunken glaze, and it sparks something in him.

 

“I know,” Wes says simply, and lifts Anton from his lap as he stands. “It's time to go home, anyways. You're drunk.”

 

Anton scrambles to keep his balance as he stands, and only barely manages to stay upright thanks to Wes’ grip on his shoulders. He's being assisted out the door of the club moments later, though his brain hadn't registered exactly  _ when _ or  _ how _ he got from there to here. It's fuzzy in his head now, anyways, and soon he’s in the backseat of a cab next to Wes.

 

Anton babbles on the ride home - something about his adventures at the club while he was away from Wes’ side - and Wes is only half-listening, really. He’s too distracted by Anton’s traveling hands, smoothing across his legs and now-clothed chest as he speaks. Wes is relieved when they finally arrive to their hotel, no hesitance in pulling Anton along with him as he hastily pays the driver.

 

They’re kissing on the way up to their room, Anton now quiet and breathless as Wes captures every noise that falls from his lips. It’s messy, moving from the elevator to their door. Wes finds himself distracted with the card and the door handle while Anton, still drunk and stumbling, is only focused on Wes’ neck. Eventually, they managed to fall their way inside.

 

Soon enough they find themselves on their shared bed, Wes lying naked flat on his back with Anton - just as naked - sitting almost precariously on his abdomen. He’s swaying a little, all of his sensations dizzy and filled with desire for  _ one thing _ , but Wes has a hold on his hips tight enough to bruise.

 

“How d’you want to do this, sweetheart?” Wes says lowly, voice hushed as Anton ruts against nothing above him, painfully hard.

 

“Wanna ride you,” Anton breaths, voice slurred and shaky. “Want you to fuck me.” 

 

Wes smirks at that, a little too smug for a sober Anton’s taste, but drunk Anton couldn't possibly  _ care _ . 

 

An impatient whine falls from his lips as Wes reaches for the lube, taking a moment to slick up his cock before he’s looking back up at Anton. “Ready whenever you are, princess.”

 

Anton swallows and nods, lifting himself up from where he’s sitting, only to shuffle a little backwards and lower himself down onto Wes’ cock while the man holds himself at the base. Despite the lack of preparation - and it was immediately obvious to Anton, the way his body burned - Wes went in easily. A broken moan slipped from Anton’s lips, his head falling back once he was fully seated. Luckily he’s  _ far _ too drunk to notice or care about the way his voice cracks when he breathes out Wes’ name.

 

Another impatient whine from Anton is Wes’ signal to move, and he does so without hesitation. The heat of Anton around him is almost too much, filling all his senses with the desperate desire to just  _ fuck _ , though he knows Anton has a goal in mind.

 

Even still, Wes wastes no time in gripping Anton by the hips and lifting him, just enough for him to thrust upwards at the same time he releases his hold, and Anton falls back down easily. The younger cries out when Wes all but slams into him, entire body trembling as he clutches desperately at Wes’ sides. There are gonna be borderline claw marks in the morning, that was for sure, but Wes welcomed the sensation.

 

It takes only a few thrusts for the two of them to set a pace, a desperate rhythm of Anton picking himself up and falling back down while Wes holds his hips and fucks upwards into him, meeting each movement messily. It takes even less time for Anton to babble incoherently - at least it was to Wes, with the mix of languages - between moans, eyes closing as he loses himself in the feeling.

 

Wes knew what that meant, knew that expression and that whimper in the depths of everything that fell from Anton’s mouth, and he knew that Anton was close. He was struggling to gather his thoughts himself, but had enough sense to lift himself up on his elbows. Anton opened his eyes then, too distracted by his closeness to really care about the movement, but curious nonetheless.

 

“Come on, baby,” Wes encouraged hoarsely, panting as he still attempted to thrust up into the other. “Come for me, come on my chest.”

 

And that was all it took— those words, one glance down to Wes’ chest, and the feeling of Wes wrapping a hand around his cock, and Anton was seeing stars. He came in long, white ropes that painted Wes, and his movements stilled to a gentle roll as he cried out, Wes’ name hot on his lips.

 

He came down slowly, just in time to dimly realize that Wes was coming too, thick inside him accompanying the shallow thrusts. Anton groaned, whimpered out a few curses, and relished in the way his name sounded on the older’s tongue.

 

Wes pulled out a few breaths later, and it was evident Anton was going to need a little more than just a bit of assistance. His entire body was shaking where he sat, returned to Wes’ abdomen, and he was only held up weakly by his arms. Wes gave a small hum and pulled Anton down to lay beside him, the younger going easily.

 

Anton was still in a daze, thoroughly drunk when Wes placed a hand on his cheek and forced him to look up, his other arm around Anton’s waist and holding him close. Anton’s breath shook and wavered as he sighed, a smile breaking out onto his face when their eyes met.

 

“Thank you,” he croaked weakly, and again Wes wanted to laugh.

 

“For what?” He asked, only half-joking. “You  _ know _ I would've let you do that, insanely drunk or not.”

 

“ _ Still _ ,” Anton said with a weak roll of his eyes, shifting further against Wes’ chest. 

 

“And besides, I'm not going to remember most of this in the morning,” he continued. There was a pout to his words, and Wes’ lips quirked into a small grin. “So you're going to have to let me do it again sometime.”

 

“Of  _ course _ ,” Wes laughed, the matter-of-factness in his tone drowned out by the raw affection.

 

It was quiet after that. Long enough for Anton to have fallen asleep, long enough for the  _ both _ of them to have fallen asleep. Wes was drifting, he knew, and the last thing he registered before passing out was Anton’s voice, a quiet whisper, yet set in the world’s most dramatic tone as he whined.

  
“I'm going to have the  _ worst _ fucking hangover tomorrow.”


End file.
